"The bottle was this big."
Twenty years ago next week, I'll have been acquainted with my sometimes-better-half for twenty years, I'm not crazy, ree-ee-dundancy! You're the one that's crazy! re-ee-dundancy! Why now & not then?
You say this Layne cat's not an H-ed up invalid?
& autumnal tales of visiting drunken debauchery pre-posterity back at the home of the Gerry Faust Invitational. They're already warped, so relax, Mrs. Lovejoy, & I'm still pissed I lost that fucking game of Tecmo Bowl to the RA 'cause the fucking CPU didn't credit me with a safety on the scoreboard even though I sacked that sonofabitch in the endzone my first loss ever. Sweet Cthulhu, Yukon Jack is bloody awful (Uno!) but that gent was sure kinder to underagers as was the Illusion-during-MNF-halftime hawker (I remember when 28 was old, Dr. Pepper) than the field stabber or whatever probably more colorful less accurate sobriquet we saddled him with. Can't avoid the Gauntlet of Doom if we're to booze, dood, all because I chose a blind date over a game of cards & ended up nukyular instead of dead in a black metal ditch.* Now that's gambling.
*in truth, I'd likely be a peon somewhere else. Habitual ATF no-nos ain't cheap.